The Code of the Potters
by mashplum
Summary: A tongue in cheek rendering of Harry’s adult life, in the style of another famous writer from the UK.
1. An Unsettling Owl

**Chapter 1 - An Unsettling Owl **

Whenever I set out to chronicle my latest misadventure, I am immediately faced with a rather sticky problem. Specifically, I never know how much background material to shove in. There was a time when simply stating, "My name is Harold James Potter," would have sufficed to tell any reader all he needed to know to properly enjoy the subsequent tale. We Potters were pretty famous there for a spell. (A spell of time, that is. No particular magic spell can be attributed to us, as far as I'm aware.)

I was known in my days at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry as "The Boy Who Lived." That is not to say that the other boys at school had not lived. They lived all right, and most lived a damn sight better than I did. I could have more accurately been called "The Boy Who Lived in a Closet Under the Stairs of His Rotten Aunt and Uncle's." But I was given my curious appellation, if that is the word I want, after my parents were killed by a dark wizard and I, at the tender age of fifteen months, escaped with only a decorative scar and the socially disastrous knack for speaking snake.

As I seem to have made up my mind to spend this first chapter bringing the uninitiated up to speed, I hope the faithful will hang in there and perhaps try to feel nostalgic at the condensed retelling of my salad days.

About a year after Ireland beat Bulgaria, I had a serious run-in with the aforementioned dark wizard, who was called either Riddle, Voldemort or "He Who Must Not be Named" (that last being the most popular though least suited for rolling easily off the t). After watching Cedric Diggory become the least likely to be named "The Boy Who Lived," I successfully defended my title by living yet again. Not all were convinced though, until the incident immediately following my fifth-year OWLS when after again encountering the Riddle excrescence, I lived thrice.

It was generally assumed afterward that the last of the Potters would be the chap to one day rid the world of the last of the Riddles. There was much talk of a prophecy and the title "Chosen One" was batted about pretty freely, but I neatly sidestepped the honor of trying to kill our history's greatest menace and let it pass to the not-quite-last of the Longbottoms. Yes, I was at school with the celebrated Neville Longbottom when he made the wizarding world safe for Democracy, and safe for yours truly to live a normal life for a change. Which is why Harry Potter faded into relative obscurity and became famous only among his pals at the local Gnomes Club for inventing Indoor Quidditch.

If you'll recall those stairs under which I told you I lived for the last ten of my first eleven years, you'll understand why, after passing my NEWTS, I chose to use some of my parents' fortune to move away from dreaded Aunt Petunia's (Uncle Vernon by this time occupying a generous portion of the Dursley family plot) and into a flat in Hogsmeade.

And if you'll bring to mind that recent bit about Young Neville making the world safe for not needing so many Aurors anymore, you'll understand why I decided to call it a career after only four years of study (and no actual Auring) to devote myself wholly to the pursuit of not being in when my aunt comes to call. To further that end I have taken on one of my old schoolmates as a gentlemen's gentleman. 

Colin Creevey, who as a lad used to pester me with his camera, has matured into one of the brainiest coves I know, owing, I've often supposed, to a strict diet rich in Plimpy and Lobalug. Of late he has shown himself to be the first person to run to when one is the recipient of an unsettling owl. If such an owl arrives, as it did today, at the unholy hour of nine in the morning when running is impossible because one is still in bed and hasn't had one's morning tea, one must resort to calling out.

"Creeves!"

Author's note: This is, of course, a mash-up of the works of my wife's favorite writer, J.K. Rowling, and those of my favorite writer, P.G. Wodehouse. Rowling requires no introduction; Wodehouse (1881 – 1975) was an English comic writer who enjoyed enormous popular success for more than seventy years. He is best-known today for the Jeeves and Wooster novels and short stories.

Thanks to Deeble, my beta reader.


	2. Creeves Takes Charge

**Chapter 2 – Creeves Takes Charge **

Creeves shimmered in, carrying a tray before him.

"Good morning, sir. I have taken the liberty of preparing one of my restorative potions." 

"Dashed good thing that. I'm in need of some restoration after what I've just read."

"Sir?"

"Hedwig just flew in with the morning post, and what do you suppose was in it?"

"Ill tidings, I presume?"

"These tidings are past ill, Creeves. Tidings like these are at death's door. They are having their lawyer draw up papers that begin, 'I, Tidings, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath…'!"

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Perhaps if you were to tell me the nature of the missive, I would be able to render some assistance?"

That's Creeves for you – filled to the brim with the feudal spirit – always ready to cluster round when the young master is in the soup. I gave him the Wizard's Digest abridged version of the letter, as I couldn't bear to read it again. "It's from Ron. Apparently his wedding to Hermione Granger has been called off."

"How unfortunate for Mister Weasley."

"How unfortunate for Mister Potter is what you should be saying. Or have you forgot that I was once affianced to the blighted Granger? Or that it was by sheer dumb luck that I was able to wriggle free before any rice became airborne? Or that until she became safely engaged to Ron, I was living under the dangling sword of what's-its?"

"Damocles, sir?"

"Yes, that's the chap. Have you so soon forgot that I was, for a time, Damocles to Hermione's sword dangler? Or was Damocles the one doing the dangling?"

"It was Dionysius, sir, and no, the memories of those events are still fresh in my mind."

"As they are in mine, Creeves. And now, if Ron is not going to take a Bludger for the team, the rest of us, yours truly in particular, are in mortal danger once again. No, we've got to act, and act swiftly to mend the rift that exists between these two before it grows to … to … some sort of larger rift." 

"If I knew the cause of the estrangement between Mister Weasley and Miss Granger, I might be better able to formulate a stratagem."

"I would like nothing better than to start your wheels to motion, Creeves, but the letter doesn't say why the engagement has been scratched. It just says to expect him for lunch today and he will lay it all out for you. He mentions you specifically; that must mean he wants your help in getting back on the broom. You know, your opinions are highly prized among my pals down at the Gnomes. They all see you as an Order of Merlin First Class advice dispenser."

"I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir."

The more I thought about the situation, the more at ease I became. At least, the more unlikely to hyperventilate into a bag I became. If gloomy old Ron was still hopeful of a reconciliation, then the situation must not be that dire, and with Creeves on the case the outlook was good for Mr. and Mrs. Granger to start requesting the honor of everyone's presence. 

The trouble was, I had to keep well away from Hermione until Creeves had time to do his stuff. If I were forced to confront a stricken, weeping, woe-is-me version of my boyhood friend, I know just what would happen. My chivalrous nature would kick in and I would say something complimentary. Hermione would begin to brighten but then doubt my sincerity and return to the depths of despair. Then I would redouble my efforts and say things that a man should say only to those females toward whom he has honorable intentions. I would find myself finishing the thing on one knee, and before you can say "Caput Draconis," I'm drying the tears of the future Mrs. Harry Potter.

I'm not drawing on any heretofore-unmentioned powers of divination in saying this, only experience. I did the same thing the day after she was jilted by Viktor Krum. Luckily, Hermione broke our engagement when she fell in love with Ron. Otherwise the Code of the Potters would have demanded I go through with it. That same code caused me to pretend that I was saddened by her rejection, when, in reality, I was on velvet. The upshot is that to this day the Granger believes I still pine for her and that I cling feverishly to the hope that she will return to me.


	3. The Reward For Honest Toil

**Chapter 3 – The Reward For Honest Toil **

It was nearly noon when a sluggish broom eased down and deposited a lanky fellow of the Weasley persuasion on my balcony. Even through the frosted glass doors I could tell that the broom was a worn-out Cleansweep Eleven and the Weasley was an even more worn-out Ronald Bilius. I _accio_'ed the doorknobs – a spell that, if cast as I do it, wandless and without much verve, merely causes the doors to swing open toward the caster. This allowed me to invite Ron in without having to get up from my chair.

"What ho, Ron," I chirped with gusto. 

"What ho, Harry," he replied with a noticeable absence of same.

"Come in, come in, and have a seat."

I gestured toward the sofa he had already plopped down on and he availed himself of my hospitality by staying there and eating Every Flavor Beans from a dish Creeves had put out.

"I received your owl. Something about a temporary setback on your road to wedded bliss?"

"Oh, Harry, I hope it's only temporary. That's why I need to see Creeves right away. Can you call him in here?" 

"I can call until I'm blue in the face, but Creeves is still at the market buying the ingredients for our luncheon. I hadn't expected you so early."

"Why? I said I'd be here at noon."

"Point of order, my old chum: You said you'd be here for lunch."

"Well, don't you eat lunch at noon?" 

"Schedules here at Hogsmeade are a bit out of sync with those at Ottery St. Catchpole, due to what we like to call 'The night-life.' If I were to force-feed myself a meal at noon, it would smack up against the breakfast I finished a mere half an h. ago. Accordingly, I told Creeves to plan a 2-ish lunch for us." 

"It doesn't matter. I haven't a bit of appetite now that Hermione has left me. How I worship her, Harry. She is a goddess to me. I will starve myself to death if I can't win her back!" 

"I can't help but notice you've got outside that entire dish of Every Flavor Beans."

"Oh sorry. You know, I think there was a bogey one in there."

"Enough with pleasantries, Ron. Tell me what has happened between you and Hermione. I thought you were comfortably wrapped round her little finger."

"Oh yes, comfy-dandy, but now she's called me a bungling brute and says she never wants to see me again."

"She called you a 'bungling brute'? You? I suppose I can see the 'bungling' part, but 'brute' is beyond the pale? What on earth did you do?"

"Well, I got up early this morning and went over to her house to de-gnome her garden. Sort of as a present, you see?"

"Clearly. Nothing brutish there. Dashed decent of you, in fact."

"So there I am swinging gnomes by the bushel full, bunging them over the hedge. It was quite a job. She had really let the garden go, so there were rather a lot of them." 

"That must have made an awful noise. How early did you say you were doing this?"

"Around about seven o'clock I should say."

"Seven?"

"Yes."

"Ante meridiem?"

"Naturally."

"Greenwich Mean Time?"

"Of course, Harry, now let me finish." 

"There's no need. I see all. And I don't blame Hermione in the least. If you woke me out of a sound slumber with bushels of shrieking gnomes, I wouldn't marry you either."

"Oh dash it, Harry, Hermione doesn't follow your Hogsmeade night-life schedule any more than I do. She was awake and breakfasting when I started. But the noise did bring her out to see what was what. That was part of my plan, to have her see how hard I was willing to work to give her a proper home and such."

"Good plan, that. She does appreciate honest toil."

"Right, so she came out into the garden and I spotted her before she spotted me. And Harry, she was breathtaking. Wearing one of those adorable Muggle outfits she likes so much, the dawn shining on her bushy hair. I tell you, I couldn't take my eyes off her. When she spotted me I wanted to be in the middle of a really good toss to impress her so I grabbed one without really looking, you see?"

"Because you couldn't take your eyes off her. I'm with you."

"Right, and it was a rather heavy one, this gnome, so I mustered up some extra vim for the spin and heave, so as not to appear weak."

"Heavy gnome. Double vim. Go on."

"It was just as I was about to let go of the ankles and send it over the hedge that I noticed that it was not a gnome at all but rather a house-elf."

"No!" 

"I'm afraid so."

On hearing this the scales fell from my eyes. I should, at this point, mention to the newcomers that Hermione is a staunch advocate of house-elf rights and has been since our days at school when she used to knit atrocious winter-wear for them.

"Ron, tell me you didn't toss it over the hedge."

"No."

"There's a mercy at least." 

"I only tossed him into the hedge."

"Oh for – what was the little blighter doing there in the first place? Certainly Hermione doesn't keep house-elves."

"She had hired him as a gardener. His name is Deeble."

"And Hermione saw you fling her gardener into this hedge, I presume." 

"She saw all right, and started right in with the name-calling. Bungling brute was just the tail-end of it. I can't even remember what else she said about me."

Ron's face registered pain at the memory of the whatever-it-was-he-couldn't-remember and my heart went out to him. When Hermione returned yours truly to store, she did so with stream of invective that ended with the words "scar-faced prat."

"But Ron, surely she saw that it was an honest mistake. You must have explained to her that you thought it was a gnome."

"I did! I even took her around the hedge to show her what I had accomplished up to then. But that just made things worse."

"How could it?"

"Turns out she's crusading for gnomes' rights now. Her garden is a sanctuary for them and the elf was hired to take care of them."

It was just then that Creeves returned from the market, and it was not a moment too soon. I called out for his immediate aid.

"Creeves! Two butter beers, heavy on the beer, butter optional!"


	4. Ron's Staggeringly Awful Plan

**Chapter 4 – Ron's Staggeringly Awful Plan **

"Yes sir, I believe I have the whole of it."

Creeves, having had the circs relayed to him, displayed his immediate grasp of the prob.

"Mister Weasley, while attempting to render unto Miss Granger a good deed, inadvertently launched not one but two of Miss Granger's philanthropic endeavors in the direction of a garden hedge during the lady's breakfast. This led Miss Granger to sever the engagement between Mister Weasley and herself."

"Right you are, Creeves. And now is the time to cluster round young Ron and haul him out of the soup. Are you up to it?"

"It is most problematic, sir. I will need some time to ponder the situation. Perhaps I should prepare the luncheon while I am thinking?" 

"Excellent, Creeves. You cook and think while Ron and I finish our drinks out here. We might even come up with a solution on our own."

"Anything is possible, sir."

While I was certain we were up to the task of finishing our butter beers, I was doubtful we'd make any headway in solving Ron's problem. Telling me his sad tale and hearing me repeat it to Creeves took a lot out of the fellow, and he appeared ready to slip down between the sofa cushions and wait to be swept out with the fluff, crumbs and errant Knuts.

It was only after a restorative lunch that he was in a fit state to continue. I had previously given Creeves the afternoon off to visit an old friend, and as he took his leave he assured Ron that he would continue to ponder. Bereft of his guidance, one of us was bound to propose a terrifically awful plan, and it was Ron who came up with a real stinker.

"Harry! You could go to Hermione and plead my case for me! You could remind her how we saved her from the troll that one time in school. Or how I stood up for her when Malfoy called her a Mudblood. No one knows the both of us like you do – I don't know why I didn't think of it before!" 

"I don't know why you are thinking of it now!" 

"Because it's bloody brilliant."

"No, it's daft."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

I couldn't tell Ron that I had once been engaged to his beloved. That kind of thing puts a strain on a friendship. It would be like telling a chap whose dream it is to play for the Chudley Cannons that you had been offered a spot in the line-up and turned it down. Something similar happened with the Tri-Wizard Tournament in our fourth year, and Ron revealed his green-eyed nature. It wouldn't do to have him lose his fiancée and his best friend in the same day, so I conjured a weak excuse.

"You know I have never won an argument with Hermione Granger. If I were to take the position that you were a swell chappie in general, and that business of bunging diminutive creatures into shrubbery was a one-time fluke, she would respond by digging in and bolstering the case for the prosecution. She would bring up the time you wanted to kill her cat, Crookshanks, or how you made fun of her charity work – calling it 'spew' all the time. You know how she is."

"I suppose you're right, Harry. She would get the better of you in any argument." I relaxed but only momentarily, as he continued. "You'll just have to go to her and say you're against her taking me back."

If I hadn't already finished my drink, I probably would have choked to death on it. As it was I just goggled at the man and spluttered. He took mild offense.

"What's wrong with that plan? You just said yourself you'd lose any argument with her, so all you have to do is go and lose that one. Tell her you think she's well rid of me. Tell her that I'm a foul loathsome evil little cockroach. She'll spring to my defense like a hippogriff protecting her foal." 

"Sorry, I can't help you."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing! Surely you'll do this for me, Harry?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Is this Harry Potter? The same Harry Potter who was at Hogwarts with me?"

"More or less the same, yes."

"I never thought I'd see the day when Harry Potter would fail to rally round a schoolmate, from his own House even!"

"And yet here we are. You'll just have to rely on whatever Creeves comes up with."

"But we were at school together!"

"Be that as it may, we must wait on Creeves."

"You wait on Creeves, I'm going to find someone who remembers his mates. Maybe Seamus is out of hospital." With that he got on his broom and took off in a huff. Perhaps he would send Seamus to try his scheme. Better him than me, I thought. Even if he was up and about after his latest spell-turned-conflagration, without eyebrows he was not likely to tempt Hermione away from Ron, or more importantly say anything to cause her to return to me.


	5. The Soup Deepens

**Chapter 5 – The Soup Deepens **

"Miss Lovegood to see you, sir." 

"Oh hello, Creeves. I didn't know you had returned." 

"I have only just returned, sir, and have brought Miss Lovegood with me."

"Was she the friend you went out to meet?"

"One and the same, sir."

"Well, by all means show her in. I haven't seen old Loony in ages."

"Very good, sir."

Luna Lovegood was another of my former schoolmates, and never was there more of a gawd-help-us. Luna was the kind of girl who thinks the stars are dragon kisses and that every time a Cornish pixie blows its wee nose, a baby is born. She is also a cousin of mine by marriage as her father unadvisedly tied the knot with my Aunt Petunia a few years ago. The last time I saw Luna was at their anniversary party and I could only imagine what had brought her here today.

"Hello, Harry."

"What ho, Loony. All is well with the Lovegood household, I trust."

She didn't answer immediately but sighed audibly and looked out of the window as if seeing across the miles into the home she shared with her father and step-mother.

"Oh, Harry. It is ever so sad. Love is a fickle emotion, and the strongest bonds it forms can turn brittle like Devil's Snare in bright sunlight."

"If you're talking about your dad and my Aunt Petunia, then your metaphor is apt. I knew if he ever got a look at her in good light, things would turn sour."

"No, you've got it all wrong. Daddy loves her as much as ever, but I fear another wizard has also fallen in love with her."

"You mean there are two wizards dippy enough to want my Aunt Petunia? No offense to your father." 

"Yes, I'm afraid so, and I don't see how Daddy can compete with such an impressive and important wizard."

"Who is this blighter who's vying for my aged relative's limited affections?"

"You know him, Harry. It's Professor Snape."

The only Professor Snape I knew was the Potions master at Hogwarts. He was a cranky, beak-nosed pill with greasy hair who made my life especially miserable. Owing to my resemblance to my father, whom he detested as a youth, old Snape gave me the business for six straight years until he was given the boot for killing the headmaster.

As this was the last person I wished to have for an uncle, I hoped that Luna had got her facts wrong. There was a pretty fair chance of this, as getting facts wrong was practically a hobby of hers.

"You don't mean Severus Snape, the Potions master?"

"Certainly. Though he'll be Headmaster Snape as soon as McGonagall retires."

"Ah yes, I remember reading about that in _The Quibbler_. 'Exonerated Killer to Succeed Headmistress' was the headline. Is it true?"

Mr. Lovegood is the owner and editor of _The Quibbler_, an increasingly obscure wizarding magazine, as well as _Witches' Boudoir_, a quarterly supplement he began as a wedding gift to Aunt Petunia. She once badgered me into writing an article for the bally rag on "What the Well-Dressed Wizard is Wearing."

"Daddy only prints the truth, Harry. I was there when he interviewed Professor Snape for that article. Daddy invited him to supper a few weeks ago and that's when this all began."

"How do you mean?" I asked, for the first time eager to hear some gossip of young Loony's.

She told me in dramatic form the tale of the supper with Snape – how her father introduced him to Aunt Petunia only to discover that they had met previously. It seems the old buzzard had a school-boy crush on my own mother, Lily, and Aunt Petunia recalled to him the time he ventured into the Muggle world to call on her. She flattered him by saying Lily should have chosen him over my father. He complimented her by saying that _Witches' Boudoir_ should be required reading at Hogwarts to teach manners and decorum to young dunderheads. This last bit was especially significant since Mr. Lovegood has been threatening to discontinue the supplement to reduce costs. They really hit it off when the topic of talk turned to yours truly, specifically their mutual opinion that I am a wastrel.

When I sent Luna on her way with every assurance that I would do all I could to prevent Aunt Petunia from running off with Snape, I could not have been more sincere. The thought of having to look at his sour face across a holiday table filled me with a coldness I haven't felt since I was attacked by a dementor.

"Creeves," I said, "a chill wind blows from Ottery St. Catchpole. It seems that all manner of romantic misunderstandings are fated to make life dodgy for the young master." 

"It would appear so, sir."

"Have you anything for it?"

"I believe so, sir. I have instructed Miss Lovegood to seek the counsel of Mr. Weasley."

"Arthur Weasley? Yes, he might have something to say. Knows a fair bit about happy marriage and Muggle ways."

"Possibly so, sir, but it was to his son Mr. Ronald Weasley that I directed Miss Lovegood." 

"Ron? Are you quite well, Creeves? Ron is the last person to ask for romantic advice. He can't even handle his own love-life, let alone someone else's."

"If you'll pardon me for disagreeing, sir, I expect that a meeting between Mr. Weasley and Miss Lovegood will produce a result beneficial to the concerns of both parties. It is part of a larger plan of mine that I believe will prove satisfactory to all involved."

"Sounds rummy to me, Creeves, but I suppose you have studied the psychology of the individuals?"

"Indeed, sir."


	6. Very Good, Creeves

**Chapter 6 – Very good, Creeves **

To say I was disappointed by the way things were developing would be to put it mildly. As a rule the number of simultaneous crises my nervous system can cope with these days is zero. I was presently two over my limit and a third was in the offing.

Hermione Granger, the girl I was dead-set against going to see on Ron's behalf, turned up on my doorstep just as I was stepping out to go to the Gnomes. My usual _modus operandi_ for ducking callers whom I prefer to avoid is to instruct Creeves to tell them I'm not in. I briefly considered going back in to get Creeves to try this on Hermione, but as I may have mentioned, she is a smart cookie, and, as such, was unlikely to fall for this ploy. No, once a girl has said, "Hello Harry" (or whatever your name is), and you have reflexively responded, "What ho, Hermione" (or whatever her name is), your manservant will have a deuce of a time convincing said girl that you are not in.

Hermione invited me to give her tea and back inside we went. I offered her a seat and instead of calling for Creeves, I went in search of him personally, finding him in the kitchen.

"Creeves," I began, "do you know who is in the living room right now?"

"Miss Granger, sir. I heard the two of you coming in."

"Yes, but you've only heard, whereas I have seen. And do you know what I saw when I looked into Hermione's eyes just now, Creeves? Do you?"

"I fancy you believe you detected in her a rekindled affection for you, sir. This eventuality was not unexpected, if you will recall." 

"Tchah!" I responded.

"Sir?"

"I said _tchah_, Creeves and I meant it. Just because I was expecting something like this doesn't mean it's not unexpected, if you take my meaning."

"If you mean that you feel unprepared to deal with Miss Granger's presence at the moment, I have a suggestion that may prove useful."

"Speak, then. I hang on your lips."

"If you were to mention the salient points of your recent conversation with Miss Lovegood to Miss Granger, I calculate that it will produce a satisfactory effect." 

"You believe so?"

"Yes, sir. I'm almost certain that hearing about your aunt's encounter with Professor Snape will distract Miss Granger from the original purpose of her visit."

I returned to Hermione and told her that Creeves would be serving tea momentarily. As I moved to sit in the chair farthest from her, she patted the sofa cushion beside her and bade me sit upon it. I couldn't think of a graceful way to refuse. No sooner was I seated than she started in on me.

"Harry, it so lovely to see you. I can't tell you how much I've missed you. Tell me how much you've missed me."

"Oh very much, I'm certain. You know, a rummy thing happened to me earlier …" 

"Something happened to me earlier today too, Harry. I think you should know that Ronald and I…"

"… Luna Lovegood, you remember old Looney, well she's my cousin now…"

"Harry, listen. Ron and I have broken …"

"… seeing as how my aunt married her dad, you know. And speaking of my Aunt Petunia …" 

"Yes, Harry dear, but speaking of marriage …"

"… her marriage to old Corante Lovegood is in a bit of trouble at the moment. You see, she's apparently been swept off her feet by …" 

"Funny you should say that, Harry darling, because this morning Ron swept all my gnomes off their feet and that's why I'm not going to …"

"… you're not going to believe it but my Aunt Petunia wants to …"

"… marry Ron."

"… marry Snape!"

I had just been thinking that Creeves' plan was turning out to be a total frost until I said the name Snape. After that everything was a breeze. Hermione asked me to repeat my story, this time without interruption. I even showed her the _Quibbler_ article, which she had not before seen. She gave it a once over, made a quick good-bye to yours truly and before I knew what was what she had exited the premises.

"Creeves!" I shouted. "Miss Granger has exited the premises."

"Very good, sir." 

"'Very good, Creeves' is more like it. How did you manage that miracle? She was about to tell me that I was all hers again, but when I mentioned old Snape she was gone like a Golden Snitch. She took my magazine too."

"Would you like me to purchase another one, sir?"


	7. Wedding Bells Ring

**Chapter 7 – Wedding Bells Ring**

While I was still reeling from the staggering effectiveness of Creeves' plan for removing Hermione from the flat before she could secure a promise of matrimony from the young master, Hedwig flew in with the second post. In it was a letter from Aunt Petunia – a Howler in fact, as per her usual.

"_HARRY, _

"YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TO SEE US SINCE CHRISTMAS. I HAVE IMPORTANT NEWS TO DISCUSS WITH YOU. TELL THAT MAN OF YOURS TO PACK FOR AN EXTENDED STAY AND TO BRING YOUR TUXEDO."

"Well, Creeves, this clinches it. She means to run off and marry Snape, and she actually expects me to attend the ceremony. Not that they aren't perfect for each other – fiends of a feather and all that. But Harold wants no part of it. Fry up some Plimpy, Creeves, and think of a plan for getting me out of this mess."

"Actually, sir, I believe we should accede to Mrs. Dursley-Lovegood's wishes." 

"Oh do you, Creeves?" I said with undisguised sarcasm. "You think we should Floo right over?"

"No, sir. Mrs. Dursley-Lovegood has sent train tickets. Arriving by Floo at a private residence is not proper form for a gentlewizard."

"I see, and I suppose you think you should press my tux for me to wear at the wedding."

"Yes, sir, though I do not believe it will be a wedding between Mrs. Dursley-Lovegood and Professor Snape." 

"Good heavens, you don't think she's planning to have me marry Luna?"

"No, sir. Though I do suspect that Miss Lovegood will be getting married soon."

I was beginning to feel that I was grasping for a Snitch that Creeves had caught ages ago and no one had got around to telling me that the match was over. There was nothing for it but to put my faith in the man whose brain was so large it made his head stick out at the back, and assume that all would turn out right in the end.

On the train ride to Ottery St. Catchpole I reflected on Snape and Aunt Petunia. Snape had not been seen by polite society in years. Though he was officially cleared of all wrongdoing, most of us right-thinking sort knew he was still not to be trusted. The story in the _Quibbler_ wasn't covered by the _Prophet_ and I hadn't really believed that Snape was back, let alone that he would be taking over at my old school.

Aunt Petunia, as sister to the late great Lily Potter, was warmly embraced by the wizarding world after Uncle Dursley's death. All of her old prejudices seemed to dry up (except for those held toward me), and she'd been married to old Lovegood for the last three years.

Once she egged me on to marry Luna, and we were almost engaged not long after Ron and Hermione. I only oiled out of it by being too chicken to pinch Luna's grandfather's embarrassing memoirs before he could have them published, and Luna decided Harold was not fashioned from sturdy husband material after all.

My mind reeled at visions of the potential horrors that awaited, but my incompetent divination professor, Sibyll Trelawney, could not have done a worse job at predicting what I would find at my destination than I.

"Harry!" shouted Ron as we arrived at the gate outside Lovegood Manor. "You came! I've got incredible news. I'm getting married! This Saturday!"

"What? To Hermione?"

"Please, Harry, I can't stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly. No, I'm in love with Luna!"

Just then Luna walked over to Ron, tugged at his elbow and asked him to give her a moment alone with me. Ron obliged and went inside with Creeves. Luna took my arm and led me along the garden path. 

"Harry," she began, "what I have to say will be painful for you to hear. I'm going to marry Ronald. Shh … don't speak. I know you have always hoped that you and I would be married one day, but it was not in the tea-leaves. I'm sorry Ronald had to spring it on you so abruptly but he never knew about us. You see, I am a wicked witch. I only wanted to marry you because I thought I had lost Ronald to Hermione. I do love you, Harry, but never the way that I love… I love… ohh." Her voice became a squeak and she dabbed at a tear. "I'm so very happy, Harry. And you two are such good friends. Please tell me that one day you will be happy for us, too."

"Oh, right ho!" I said.

I was instantly bucked up by the news that my fears of having to marry Luna were unfounded, but there was a catch – if Ron was going to save me from Luna, he could not very well also save me from Hermione.

I resolved then and there that I would face it like a man and stand up to Hermione if she came around with that "Harry darling" routine again. We Potters can be pretty brave when we have to – after all, my ancestors acquitted themselves proudly at the Battle of Camlann. I decided I would simply tell Hermione that she must forget all thoughts of our getting engaged. Yes, Harold would make the firm stand.

Even money says I would do nothing of the sort and instead propose to her again, but an even chance is better than none at all.

I sought Creeves and found him in a guest room unpacking my belongings. I learned from him that while Snape did make a hit with Petunia, there was never any danger of the two of them running off. Luna was just reading too much into it as usual. When Creeves went to see her, instead of easing her mind he fanned her flame of paranoia and advised her to tell me all about it. Then he sent her to Ron of all people for advice.

"I knew from talking to Miss Ginevra Weasley," he explained as I dressed for the ensuing engagement celebration, "that Miss Lovegood had long held a secret affection for Mister Weasley. I felt that putting them both together in their hour of mutual distress would bring this hidden love to light." 

"So Luna was potty for Ron, eh? But what made you think Ron would go for her? He was pretty hung up on Hermione."

"If I may be so bold, sir, I have noticed that Mister Weasley's affections, though both strong and genuine, are easily transferable." 

"He is a sucker," I observed. "But what happened to Hermione? And how did you know she would run off as she did?" 

"Years ago at Hogwarts, my brother Dennis was infatuated with Miss Granger to the extent that he read the young lady's personal journal without her knowledge."

"He sneaked her diary?"

"Yes, sir. There he learned of Miss Granger's unrequited love for a certain professor. This knowledge soured my brother's feelings toward her, but he revealed his discovery to no one save me."

"Don't say it, Creeves. Don't say Hermione was in love with Snape."

"Was and I believe still is, sir. When she heard that Professor Snape had returned and believed that another woman was vying for him, she did not hesitate to pursue him. She is, even as we speak, securing a position teaching potions at Hogwarts so that she will be near Professor Snape when he takes over for Headmistress McGonagall."

"Creeves, I've said it before and I'll say it once again. You stand alone." 

"Thank you, sir."

"You know that Chudley Cannons hat of mine that you don't like?"

"The one that simulates cannon fire from the wearer's ears, sir?"

"The same, Creeves, the same. Well, I want you to get rid of it." 

"Thank you, sir. I disposed of it last week."

THE END


End file.
